I am seashore strewn blue-eyed and summer sun clad
but I wander through shimmered sandcastles wondering when
when will the clocks synchronize
like moon and tide
begin their hand dial dive into the configurations
of premeditations shaped and sold by surety
melted curves of constellations I know how to trace blind

We are wound up like pendulums begging for the seconds
wherein they can start to swing, be born into purpose
bearing down with rapture on the invisible origins
time and time again, seconds made manifest
heartbeat synchronized to the shape of this life

As the seconds leave me with discernible displacement
imaging to sand swiftly escaping my seeking hands
I am trying, trying so hard not to ask what I wonder
where are you building sandcastles
stockpiling your seconds against what future
shaping the towered keeps of what treasureholds

Even blind, I would still sense your absence
the temporal shine of your existence shifting into transience
lipping across to me in layered waves of mesmeric
like the ripples of setting sunlight on shorebound water
transfixed in an open mouth hook on hold

Despite the drench of afternoon sun at the shore
I admit I am ever uneasy in the suspense of what losses
it may take for you to learn
that the waves will always wash our sanded seconds
into a past tense pendulum swing. But even more so
that less sand slips through two pairs of hands
clasped together with the closeness of hearts

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